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Lord
help me
if I’ve ever got to live by myself
by Peary Perry | |
Lord
help me if I’ve ever got to live by myself.
Having spent a few days these
past weeks with some of my bachelor friends I can safely say that this type of
life is not good for them and I’m certain for me. I don’t think I would survive
for very long in that kind of an environment. I need help. I need help all of
the time.
I might also suggest these bachelor friends of mine do as well.
First off, let me clarify that these are old guys, not youngsters waiting to be
married; all of these guys have been married and married again at some time or
another. Their wives either died or left them or perhaps both, I’m not sure. I
don’t really want to know either.
The first thing I notice is a lack of
personal grooming skills. Most of these fellows have brillo pads growing from
their noses and ears. This stuff really starts to move on you as the years go
by. I can almost hear mine getting longer each night. I have several sets of industrial
size clippers to weed eat that stuff back to a presentable stage, but it takes
time and effort. You can’t just let it grow or it will get away from you in a
few short weeks. These men apparently never look at themselves very closely in
the mirror.
Next is their clothing. They don’t wear pressed stuff. Some
of their shirts look like they have slept in them. Not one of them knows how to
iron. Wash and wear seems to be the order of the day. Old wash and wear at that.
The towels smell musty and I suspect my friend washes the same one time after
time. My wife rotates these so they get cleaned on a regular basis. Bless her
heart, I really do appreciate her. Especially after being around these guys for
a day or two.
I spent the night with one of them and opened the refrigerator,
this was a mistake. He had some cheese, two six packs of beer, a six pack of root
beer, several carrots, a half eaten apple and several cartons of milk. There were
also some take out food containers which I’d suspect could be used for a mold
growth experiment without any trouble at all. A couple of the milk cartons looked
solid and might be in the process of making cheese, but I didn’t ask. Oh, yes
he had a roll of paper towels on the bottom shelf. Why? Who knows?
A big
screen television in every room, with two or three remotes for each set. One for
the TV, one for the DVD and last but not least …one for the VHS. He probably has
an eight track player in there somewhere. My friend is like Diogenes …walking
around the house always looking for the correct remote. I suggested he buy a universal
one that worked all of the units, but he avoids new technology as much as possible
unless it’s a new truck, then you can count him all in.
I went to dinner
with the group. This is an experience you want to avoid if at all possible. First
off, if you must go…try to get to the head of the line to place your order. By
the time this group gets finished eliminating the salt, fat, carbs, red meat,
sugar, gluten, peanuts, spices of any kind, or non decaffeinated coffee you are
no longer hungry. They cannot place these orders without telling everyone within
ten feet about their irritable bowel syndrome or recent colonoscopy. The waitresses
and waiters run to the other side of the room when this group starts to sit down.
These guys can manage e-mail but don’t do as good on texting their fingers
are too stiff. Some still use film cameras and one guy the other night still had
a pager on his belt. I bet that industry is dead and gone. The conversation started
in the fifties and sixties and stayed there. It was like three hours of a History
channel documentary. All we needed was Lawrence Welk and Ed Sullivan to top off
the evening. I think I saw Elvis, but I’m not real sure.
I’m being cruel,
these are really nice guys and I’m picking on them. I just hope I never fall into
this trap and stay there. I like my life and I like having a wife. I suppose they
did as well at one time or another, but those days are long gone. They are probably
wishing they had someone to fuss at them for leaving the toilet seat up all the
time.
I know I’d miss my someone and I bet deep down they do as well.
© Peary Perry
Letters
From North America -
April 28, 2010 column
Syndicated weekly in 80 newspapers
Comments go to
pperry@austin.rr.com |
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